


The Gingerbread Boys of Baker Street

by MapleleafCameo



Series: Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, M/M, Retirementlock, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tells a fairytale to his grandchildren. Retirement!lock, fairytale, pure fluff. Happy Birthday mattsloved1!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gingerbread Boys of Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mattsloved1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsloved1/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to my lovely friend mattsloved1:D Surprise! Lol! here is a fairytale for you :)
> 
> Just a side note the change in tenses is deliberate – the opening is in present tense, as John tells the story to his grandchildren the tense changes to past. Also the fact that the characters are not named I use in the manner of telling a story and is also deliberate. And yes I used the word cookies instead of the more appropriate British term biscuits, because well reasons:P (I drew the picture first & was too lazy to change it) Mattie gave me three words: twinkle, anxious, quarantined 
> 
> I named John Da in memory of my own Grandfather, who hailed from Yorkshire, for that was what we called him:) Thanks mattie for checking your own fic:D and johnsarmylady for accepting the fact I used the word ‘cookies’.
> 
> Thank you to mrspencil for cleaning out her baking cupboard to give me this idea.

In a small cottage in Sussex live two elderly men. Long ago they had been famous, a clever detective and his stalwart companion, a war veteran and doctor. Now they live in quiet retirement, to raise bees, write stories, consult upon occasion, but mostly to dote on two small grandchildren, offspring of the doctor’s child from his first marriage. His second marriage is to the man sitting across from him in front of the fire.

 

Another time when the children, a boy and girl, had come to visit, he had told the story of how he had saved his husband from the clutches of the evil Snow Queen. This time they wish to hear the story of the kindly Landlady who took care of them.

 

“A story before bed. Please, Da,” says the boy. He is the one who looks the most like his Grandfather, in manner and in physicality.

 

“All right, then, but a short one this time. It is getting late and you two should be in bed. What would your mother say to see you up so late?”

 

The girl answers, in all seriousness, “She would say, ‘Dad, what were you thinking, letting them stay up so late, listening to your daft stories?’”

 

Both men chuckle, for the girl sounds just like her mother.

 

“Would she mention perhaps, that she also use to stay up late, upon occasion, listening to your Da’s stories?”

 

The two children look solemn at the thought of their fairly strict mother staying up past her bedtime. They both tuck this knowledge inside to examine later.

 

“Did I ever tell you of the time when Mrs. Hudson, a kind and lovely woman, created us out of gingerbread dough?”

 

His husband rolls his eyes at his spouse, but there is love and affection, deep and pure and he knows the grandchildren do not really believe in such nonsense. He could go on at length about the scientific impossibility of being made out of dough, but he won’t. He is too amused at the reaction of the children. The **twinkle** in his eye gives him away.

 

“Da! Don’t be silly,” says the girl.

 

“Silly? I am never silly.” He pokes the boy in the side with each word and makes him giggle. As old as he was, the boy still wants to be told a story, no matter how farfetched or ridiculous. Some day he would be old enough to hear the real stories, but that was not today. “It is true you know. If it weren’t for Mrs. Hudson’s love and affection, we might not be here.” He winks at his husband and his husband shakes his head at him in mock disapproval.

 

“Are we ready? Then let me begin. At one time there lived an old woman by the name of Mrs. Hudson…

 

oOo

 

At one time there lived an old woman by the name of Mrs. Hudson. She was kind and friendly and all the children of Baker Street loved her, which was a wonderful thing, to have the love and adoration of small children. Sadly, she had no children of her own and she was lonely. Her husband had been a mean and cruel ogre and when he met with a nasty end, chasing alligators through swamps, it was all well and good for her.

 

One day she decided to make some gingerbread men. She thought the children of the street would like to have the company of a playmate, who could then double as a tasty snack when they tired of play. Onto her wooden table she brought flour and sugar and eggs, butter and molasses. She pulled out an assortment of spices, cinnamon, cloves and of course ginger. Mixing and stirring, she sang and hummed. In her song were words of loneliness and loss and in her heart was the desire for some companionship. All of these things went into the mixing of the dough. Her eyes welled up with tears at the thought of her long days left alone with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

 

After a time, the ingredients were transformed and shaped into a large ball of gingerbread dough. Out came the cookie cutter in the shape of a man, arms raised in the air and legs apart. She rolled the dough and with a careful pressure and a light twist there were soon a dozen men set upon her baking tray. She soon had just enough left for two more men, one slightly smaller than the other. Into these last two, she poured all of her love and if a tear or two also slipped down her cheeks and landed upon the cookies, no one was the wiser for it. She set them a little apart from the others and placed the tray into the oven.

 

The cookies finished baking and out they came and after cooling, she set to work with a will, and decorated them. She made a small army, all with hearty smiles and cheerful eyes. To each little man small buttons were carefully placed, a scarf here or there or a hat was bestowed. Soon all were finished and rested on a covered plate, waiting until the morning to give to the children. Last upon the tray were her two special cookies.

 

These two, she decided, she would work her best decorating skills. The first she carefully edged in black, gave him dark, curly hair, a smart coat and a warm blue scarf. He had bright green eyes and a wicked smile. She laid him on the table and touched his nose.

 

“You,” she said, “you are the mischievous one, the smart one. You will lead the two of you into trouble. You will be too clever for your own good and although you’ll think you will need to be alone, you will be incomplete without your friend.”

 

Before she could start on the companion, the doorbell rang and she hurried away to answer.

 

Whilst out of the room some magic entered the kitchen, or perhaps it was already there, laying in wait. If a wish was granted or a fairy came by, I do not know. I do know that moonlight entered and stardust fell and slowly, slowly the cookie on the table stretched and stirred, small arms pushed into the air and wee hands, rubbed at newly opened eyes. The cookie sat up, looked around and wondered briefly where he was. He stood and with his bright green eyes, he observed his surroundings.

 

“Hmm,” he said, “I seem to be in the kitchen of an elderly, widowed woman. She is in the middle of making cookies, most likely for the children of the neighbourhood. I see that she has one left to decorate. I should hide and discover what she is up to. No doubt there is a mystery to be solved.”

 

As he said these words, he heard the woman coming back toward the kitchen. He quickly scurried and hid behind the empty cookie jar.

 

Mrs. Hudson, who was far wiser than one would immediately think, noticed the cookie hiding behind the jar. She wondered for a moment at the idea of a cookie walking around, but she was too kind hearted to frighten the poor thing so she hid her surprise.

 

She mixed fresh icing and on the second cookie she decorated a cream coloured sweater and blue jeans. He had brown hair and his eyes, at the moment closed in slumber, would be dark blue when he awoke.

 

“You,” she said to the finished cookie, “you will be brave and stout of heart. You will be loyal to a fault and will protect the other one. Your kindness will be rewarded with the love you two will have for each other.”

 

She stood back and watched, waited with **anxious** expectancy to see if anything would happen to the second cookie. He just lay there looking for all the world as if he were asleep.

 

“Hmmm,” she said, “perhaps I need to leave the room.” So she tidied the kitchen, washed the dishes up and left; it was off to bed with her.

 

Shortly after she retired, the first cookie crept out from behind the jar and carefully walked over to the other one.

 

He put his hands on his hips and glared down at the cookie, from which the sound of quiet snoring could be heard.

 

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt you, but there are important mysteries to be solved and time is wasting. You need to wake up.”

 

The second cookie grumbled a little in his sleep and merely rolled over onto his side and curled up into a ball, still snoring away.

 

The first cookie rolled his eyes and tapped smartly upon the shoulder of the second. “Wake up, I say. The game’s a foot; there is murder most foul and all is elementary and stuff like that. We must away to catch a criminal.”

 

The second cookie sat up, he too rubbed his eyes and looked around. “I say,” he said, “where the Dickens are we? Who are you?”

 

“The name is Sherlock Holmes, Detective extraordinaire. You are my faithful companion, Dr. John Watson. Together we solve mysteries of a culinary nature. It is time to be up and after a notorious mastermind chef. He is changing the recipes of his competitors so none will eat their food, only his. Some of them believe it is a food borne illness and have been **quarantined**. It is not and we shall have to use all of our skills to get past the security at the bakeshop and question the victims.”

 

“Oh,” said Watson. He stood a little shaky at first. One off his legs was slightly shorter than the other, from where Mrs. Hudson had run out of dough. He was able to right himself soon enough and the two cookies crept down off the able and ran away to have great adventures until the morning came.

 

When Mrs. Hudson awoke the next day, she would discover two cookies lying on the table, near where she had left them. A soft smile would break upon her face and she would see they were merely sleeping. She would tuck a drying cloth over them and kiss them awake and then and there, they would live together, happily ever after.

 

oOo

 

After the children are tucked into bed, the two men go to bed themselves. In the dark room, they cuddle together to warm up. As they drift off, the one starts to chuckle.

 

“What is it?” asks John sleepily.

 

“I particularly enjoyed how you had Mrs. Hudson’s misbegotten husband die chasing alligators.” He feels John’s grin as he lay upon his chest.

 

“Well he was from Florida, so, you know, alligators.”

 

Sherlock wraps his arms around John and pulls him in for a closer hug. He murmurs into John’s hair. “I am not too clever for my own good, but I am incomplete without you.” And he kissed John’s silvered head.

 

“I should have also mentioned that you like to have the last word.”

 

It is quiet for a time and just as John tips off into sleep, he hears Sherlock say, “I do not.”


End file.
